


Normandy: Words of Life

by TheWonderTwins



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: A-Z, F/M, Mass Effect 1, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Writing Exercise, the Mako
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWonderTwins/pseuds/TheWonderTwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of non-chronological events told one letter of the alphabet at a time; an exploration of Life aboard the Normandy and the people who live it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Arrest

**Author's Note:**

> _So essentially I started this about two years ago when all I'd played was ME2, but I love the series (have since played all three games several times) and I felt the need to pick it up where I left off and post it on here. For now, the story is told from Garrus's perspective, but I'm likely to add other characters once Garrus gets closer to the end of the alphabet._

**A is for Arrest**

All he had to do was finish the paper work and it would be official. One hundred arrests, one hundred scumbags locked up, one hundred crimes repaid. He would allow himself a drink tonight in celebration.

The pneumatic swish of his door opening pulled him out of his revelry and made him pay attention. Jumping to his feet, he saluted C-Sec Executor Pallin as the older turian approached.

“Executor, I was just finishing the paperwork.” He reported.

“Stand down, Garrus.” Pallin said with a sigh.

“Sir?”

“He’s been released,” he pressed a few holographic buttons on his omni-tool and Garrus’s screens went blank, “all records of the incident are to be deleted.”

“Incident?” Garrus protested. “Sir, he beat a young quarian within an inch of her life. He deserves—“

“It isn’t always about what he deserves, Vakarian.” The tone of his voice caused Garrus to stand at attention; a reaction trained by years in the turian military before joining Citadel Security. Pallin had him stand that way for several moments before speaking again. “Don’t push on this one. You’re a promising agent, I’d hate to see your career cut short.”

This was wrong. That quarian deserved justice.

As Executor Pallin retreated from the room, Garrus just watched. He would have responded if he could, but it felt as if someone had taken hold of his throat and stopped him from speaking.


	2. B is for Bold

**B is for Bold**

The view through his scope was not pleasant. Nothing had really been pleasant for two years, but now was certainly not when to waste time complaining. Those damn persistent mercs were preparing another assault over the bridge.

He fired the occasional shot when a target was dumb enough to present itself; picking off their numbers little by little like this was frustratingly boring, but he didn’t exactly relish the idea of another coordinated onslaught. Something needed to change. Soon.

He pulled himself back into cover with a sigh and wished—not for the first time—that Shepard were here. With her at his back there was nothing that he couldn’t face. Not Sovereign, not Saren and his geth, and not a damned space station filled with pissed off mercs.

Brief moment of daydreaming over, he checked the army on the other side of the bridge. The number of freelancers had increased recently; they must be fodder, used to distract him from something else. He looked around trying to see if he could find whatever it was they were preparing.

That’s when he saw it. A flash of impossibly red hair. It was gone in an instant, so quick he thought he might be hallucinating, and on five days without sleep, it was entirely possible. There was only one person he’d ever met with hair that color.

He shook his head to clear it. Shepard was dead. It wasn’t her. He went back to his scope and forced himself to focus on the people firing and not look for ghosts. 

After taking out a few more freelancers that got too close he started looking over who the mercs had recruited. A lot of them were inexperienced. He did catch a look at one that at least looked like he’d seen action before. Covered in tattoos and a scar on his face, he looked like he did this sort of thing for a living.

He kept his scope on him, but didn’t fire. He hadn’t made any move of aggression—aside from joining the mercs—and he was curious to see who the scarred man approached and deemed worthy enough to talk to.

Currently he was engaged with a merc in what had to be the purplest armor he’d ever seen. He chuckled a bit, remembering a conversation he’d had with Shepard while perusing the Specter-only equipment offered by the Citadel.

“Hmpf.” She’d sighed agitated.

“Something the matter, Commander?” He’d taken a glance at what she had been looking at and didn’t find anything wrong with it.

“There’s no color.”

“Sure there is, Commander,” Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams leaned against the counter, “look. Black, light grey, dark grey, charcoal, gun metal… see, lots of options.”

Shepard had laughed—the first time he’d heard her do so—and shook her head. “I want real color. Like green or, even better, _purple_. Even Vakarian has some color.” She’d nudged him gently.

“Wouldn’t purple armor make you more of a target?” He’d asked.

“Spoil my fun, Vakarian.” She’d sighed then and went with what Ash had called gun metal.

Ridiculous that a random merc would have something so outrageous. Whomever it was would stick out like a sore thumb in combat. Looking at the scarred man again, he noticed that he was still with the one in the purple armor. She—judging by the curves—had her back to his scope and was leaning against a doorframe, effectively blocking him from scoring a headshot, not that he would at the moment. She was very relaxed; as was the scarred man she was conversing with. They were either very good or very stupid to be that confident. 

Eventually he noticed the third member of the group: a salarian, but he didn’t wear the eclipse insignia, so he must not be one of Jaroth’s. The salarian wandered over to the other two and began talking. Too far away to make out what was begin said, not that it mattered, but it did draw the woman away from the wall.

His breath caught.

“Shepard.”

Impossibly red hair pulled back into a complicated twist, just like he remembered, and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen on a human were looking directly at him. She winked. Once. And the three walked away, out of sight.

This shouldn’t be possible. She was _dead!_ The Normandy had been attacked and she had died. He went to her funeral!

Yet there she was.

Hope flared in his chest. Maybe he could make it out of here after all. If Shepard was here to help—and the wink implied she was—then those mercs didn’t stand a chance.

She was taking her sweet time though. Grinning, he popped in a concussive round and blasted her shield. She responded by giving him the finger and moving behind cover. He did this several times, playing cat and mouse with his dead commander. She certainly wasn’t hard to find in her purple armor.

Finally the mercs made their move and sent the freelancers over in a huge wave. Shepard joined them as they began crossing the bridge, her and her team taking out half a dozen men from behind before anyone realized she wasn’t on their side.

As casual and uncaring as she’d been before, she was all focus now. It was something he had admired her for when they worked to take out Saren. Glad to see she hadn’t changed.

She eventually made her way across the bridge and up the stairs to his lair. She approached cautiously, weapon drawn. She put it away slowly, “Archangel?”

He took a moment to finish off one of the last freelancers before he turned his attention to her. He schooled his features before removing his helmet. It really was her. 

_Play it cool Vakarian._ “Shepard.” He didn’t like the way his voice shook, but he couldn’t help it. “I thought you were dead?”

A smile split across her face and she threw her arms open. “Garrus!”

The urge to run over and embrace her was strong, but there were still mercs to deal with. After briefly explaining what he was doing trapped up here, she rubbed her shoulder, “You got me good a few times, by the way.”

“What did I tell you about purple armor making you a target?”

“What can I say Garrus?” she grinned at the memory, “Go bold, or go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _For those of you familiar with my other work, I am continuing that story, I promise! I'm taking a break for a little bit until I get a decent buffer. I hate posting without a buffer because everything just feels rushed. I'm picking back up in January! I love you all!!!_


	3. C is for Calibrations

**C is for Calibrations**

“Bosh’tet!” 

Garrus’ mandibles twitched in amusement. Tali sounded a little out of place when she cursed, especially over the ship’s comm. systems. He’d never say as much to the quarian, but it was a shared laugh between himself and Shepard on several occasions.

“Problems Tali?”

“These calibrations have thrown my numbers off. The canon is drawing too much power away from the shields.”

“Still?”

“Sorry, Garrus.”

He sighed. “Not your fault. Just give me the new estimates, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Sending them now.”

His omni-tool beeped, alerting him to newly received data. He brought it up and read through it quickly. He cursed silently to himself. These were going to take hours.

Only an hour into the new calibrations, the door to the battery opened and Shepard walked in looking excited. “Shepard. Need me for something?” He couldn’t figure out why she seemed so excited.

She held up a deck of cards. “Have you got a minute?”

He remembered now. He’d told her that he’d finished with calibrating the Thanix Canon, and she’d offered to teach him how to play some old Earth card games in his newly acquired spare time. He’d been excited at the chance to just kick back with Shepard.

But Tali needed him to get those new calibrations done. As much as he wanted to leave them for another time, he had to do his job first.

He looked away because if he watched the smile leave her face, he’d change his mind. “Can it wait for a bit? I’m in the middle of some calibrations.”

She did a good job of hiding the sadness of his dismissal off her face, but he heard it in her voice as she bade him farewell.

Once the door was closed, he growled in frustration and brought up the new data. 

“I hate calibrations.”


	4. D is for Death

**D is for Death**

Not for the first time that day, Garrus wished he had brought his helmet. The air was thick with the coppery tang of human blood and sickly sweet death. The bodies of mercs and colonists littered the ground. 

These colonists had died days ago. Their bloated, desiccated corpses were an assault on his nasal passages. The fresh blood of the mercs, at least, came with the satisfaction of vengeance.

He glanced over at Shepard. She was standing over the body of a young colonist, no more than three. The blood and grime her skin that had collected over the past few hours cut a harsh profile of his Commander. She looked to Garrus as how the Spirit of Retribution should: bloody and wrecked.

The surviving colonists arrived then. One woman ran straight for the girl at Shepard’s feet, crying out in dismay at the sight of the little broken body. She stood, fury radiating off her, and slapped Commander Shepard hard across the face.

A growl erupted from his throat and he itched to go for his weapon. Shepard gave him a look telling him to be quiet and let her handle the angry mother.

She allowed the woman to yell at her, accuse her of incompetence, and blame her for the death of her child before slapping her again and walking away.

Garrus closed the few feet between himself and Shepard. He found himself wanting to reach for her, to make sure she was okay, but stopped himself. The notion was unbefitting of their superior/subordinate relationship and he dismissed it as weariness.

Instead, he tried to comfort her with words. “I could still shoot her, if you’d like.” 

He got the small smile he was looking for, but she shook her head. “She was looking for someone to blame so that she wouldn’t have to blame herself. I was an easy target.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Shepard nodded and sighed. “Losing someone close brings out the worst in people, Garrus. I won’t hold it against her.”

He didn’t have much experience reading human faces, but even he could see the sadness on his friend’s face. And she was his friend. He wasn’t sure when the dynamic had changed, but he couldn’t deny that it had.

“Voice of experience, Commander?” 

“Long time ago.” She grimaced. And with that, her Commander face was back on and she got down to business. “Let’s finish up here.” She called to the group. Once she was satisfied that her people were moving, she turned to Garrus and proclaimed, “Virmire is just a relay away and Saren is not getting away this time.”

If only a determined word was all it took.

Once they were through the relay, heading away from Virmire, away from the loss and devastation, Garrus went looking for his friend. She had disappeared once getting back onto the Normandy and hadn’t come by to see anyone in hours. 

He found her beating a punching bag in the cargo hold. He could smell the anguish, the anger, and the coppery scent of human blood mixed in with the sweat drenching her skin and clothes. It was a combination strong enough to almost completely mask the scent that was uniquely Shepard.

As he got closer, he saw that her knuckles were bleeding, but she ignored the blood and the pain and kept pounding the bag, leaving smears of blood with each hit. 

“Commander.” He called softly, trying to get her to focus on something other than the punching bag.

It worked, though not in the manner he had intended. She whirled around and would have landed a powerful kick to his hip if he hadn’t been just the slightest bit faster. She reacted to his block with another vicious swing in his direction. He blocked again and again as she kept coming, but soon his combat instincts overrode his caution and he went on the offensive.

When he gained an advantage, he attempted to pin her down, to get her to stop and talk, but she blasted him with a biotic blast that sent him flying into the punching bag. She got to her feet as he regained his balance and they squared off again.

“Commander!” He barked, trying to get through to her.

She launched herself at him with the aid of biotics and he landed hard on the ground; Shepard had him pinned. With a quick move that his father had taught him years ago, Garrus managed to reverse the situation faster than Shepard could block. He pinned both her arms in one large hand and had the other around her neck, but he didn’t apply pressure beyond what was necessary to restrain her.

He looked down at his friend as she fought his grip. He wanted her to pay attention and stop fighting. “Shepard, please.”

He didn’t know if was the use of her name or the fact that some of his own blood decided to drip onto her face at that moment, but she froze. He felt the tension leave her muscles and she stopped fighting. He loosened his grip on her arms and released her neck.

“Garrus?” Recognition filled her eyes swiftly followed by tears.

He released her completely and allowed her to roll out from under him. She sat up and pulled her knees close to her body, wrapping her arms around them, and burying her head. 

“I’m so sorry.” She looked up at him over the tops of her knees and her voice, when she spoke, was small. “I thought you were…”

When she didn’t finish, he supplied an answer. “You thought I was Saren.”

She looked away, ashamed.

He stood and offered her a hand up. “Losing someone close brings out the worst in people. I won’t hold it against you.”

She looked him in the eye then and, after a moment, accepted his help.


	5. E is for Earth

**E is for Earth**

It wasn’t a place he thought he’d ever see in person, but… since meeting Shepard, he had to admit, he was curious. The birthplace and the home world of Commander Tayla Shepard inspired almost a feeling of reverence in him now.

He wished he could have seen in before.

Looking at the debris and fires and rubble, and then looking to her… She hid it well, but he knew her better than just about anyone. It hurt.

A shift in a pile of wreckage sent a small hoard of rodents scurrying for a new hiding spot. He watched as Shepard tracked their retreat with a detached, but livid, expression.

“I think you have a pest problem.” Garrus growled, voice filling with his increasing outrage at what remained of Shepard’s beloved Earth.

His gaze matched hers as she looked to the silhouette of Harbinger on the horizon.

“Yes, and it’s time to wipe them out.”


	6. F is for Flexibility

The pounding music of Chora’s Den was a thrumming reminder of why he disliked that type of music. The loud bass made excellent cover for conversations you didn’t want anyone else to hear, and the dancers drew attention away from secret deals and clandestine meetings.

He sighed, the sound swallowed by the music, as he followed the commander in the club.

“A million light years from where humanity began only to find a bar filled with men drooling over half-naked women shaking their asses on stage. I can't decide whether that's funny or sad.” Williams commented.

Shepard stopped to look at one of the dancers, cocking her head to the side in assessment. “Definitely sad. Their technique is just horrible.”

“Their technique?” Williams smiled. “Something we should know, Skipper?”

“I’m just saying,” she gestured to one of the asari as she gyrated up and down next to a pole, “ _that_ takes no effort, no skill. You need more… strength, more flexibility, to really work a pole. I have seen—and done—better.”

Williams laughed.

Garrus pictured the commander dancing with the same grace and strength she employed on the battlefield, and decided he might make an exception to the music…


	7. G is for Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Happy New Year_

**G is for Grey**

He had him! 

Sidonis would finally pay for the lives he’d taken, for betraying the team. One bullet; it was more mercy than he deserved. All he had to do was pull the trigger. 

Now, if only Shepard would _move._

He caught glimpses of Sidonis’ head over her shoulder. No more than a split second at a time, but… how much time would he really need? Just a hair’s breadth away from pulling the trigger already, how much time would it take to go the rest of the way? 

Long enough for Shepard to move. Long enough to put her in the line of fire.

Too long.

Why was she getting in his way!? Didn’t she understand? He _deserved_ to die!

He could do it. Probably. Time it just right… he was a sniper after all. The best. He didn’t miss when Dr. Michel was held at gun point, how was this different?

Shepard…

“Come on Garrus. He’s not alive, not really. Let it go.”

Sidonis was right there, in the crosshairs, and Garrus just… he couldn’t. Not with Shepard in the way. Not after listening… 

Garrus growled under his breath. “Tell him to get out of here.”

When Shepard met him by the skycar, she looked determined, proud, and maybe a little worried. He wanted to yell, wanted to give her the cold shoulder… 

She calmed him down—made him crazy.

“It’s so much easier to see the world in black and white… Grey? I don’t know what to do with grey…”


	8. H is for Heat Sync

**H is for Heat sync**

“I’m out!” Shepard shouted, popping the heat sync on her shotgun as another wave of husks approached. 

“There’s a cache on the far wall, do you see it?” Garrus looked through his scope to survey the field.

It wouldn’t be easy for Shepard to reach. She was completely out of ammo, he was down to one round himself, and he couldn’t move because Shepard had ordered him to guard Jack’s unconscious body—did he mention they were out of Medi-Gel? Meanwhile, there were husks and collectors swarming the area between Shepard and the ammo cache.

“I see it.” She rolled her shoulders to loosen them.

The first husk to reach her got the butt of her shotgun to the face. She holstered the otherwise useless weapon in order to free up her hands, but a husk jumped on her back while she was distracted. Garrus was ready to risk taking the shot when Shepard slammed the husk against the pillar, knocking it off. She gave it an elbow to the face for good measure, and then moved on. A shockwave sent the next four flying, allowing her to finally move forward. Her shields flashed as gunfire hailed down from two collectors on her left. She slung a warp at one, killing it, and flung herself at the other. Shepard kicked the gun from its hands, and then punched it in the face. Staggered, but not down, the collector tried to counter attack; a sloppy swing gave Shepard the opportunity to use its momentum against it. Pushing it around, she reached across its throat and sent it flying to the ground, breaking its neck in the process. 

She didn’t have a moment to breathe, though, since three more husks were closing in. She used her biotics to throw one into another, and then gave the third a biotically enhanced punch to the solar plexus, caving in its ribcage. A biotic slam finished off another collector, and Shepard did a quick run to gain more ground. She ducked behind cover when more bullets threatened to tear through her shields. Garrus was about to warn her that she had a husk closing in on her location, but she reacted before he could get the message out. Reaching up quickly, she grabbed ahold of the husk and pulled it to the ground before slamming her fist through its skull.

Still behind cover, she waited for a break in fire before jumping over and warping the collector. Another wrestling match with husks ensued, and Garrus lost sight of her under a pile of blue-grey flesh. He could hear her over the comm. cursing, but not in an I’m-about-to-die way. He was about ready to disobey orders and go after her, when a flash of biotic light from the bottom of the pile sent the husks soaring. She stood, shook herself of whatever weariness she must have been feeling, and moved forward. Another husk got a biotically charged punch, another collector was slammed, and then finally she reached the cache.

She began loading her weapons quickly, but Garrus saw the last collector making its way toward her. He waited for her to take it out, but she didn’t seem to notice its presence. When it was close enough that it posed a real danger, Garrus gave up on waiting.

Bang!

It dropped to the ground, bullet hole between the eyes. 

Shepard turned, surprised, and then looked up to him. “Thanks.”

He stood, grinned, and then popped the heat sync. “Anytime.”


	9. I is for Insubordinate

**I is for Insubordinate**

“Sir!” Garrus slowed his jog to catch up to the detective in front of him.

The older turian eyed him briefly. “You’re one of the new recruits. Vakarian, right?”

“Yes, Sir.” Garrus saluted quickly, and then hurried to continue. “I think we have a problem brewing on Zakera. A contact of mine says that a shipment of red sand may be—“

“Contact?” The detective looked at him with doubt. “You’ve been here three weeks Vakarian. What ‘contact’ could you possibly have?”

He hesitated. “They would like to remain unnamed. Sir.”

The detective’s mandibles flared in annoyance. “You were just handed this information? Is this unnamed contact reliable? How would you know, recruit? This could be a trick, a trap. You could be sending good C-Sec officers to their deaths because you believe every eager sob-story you hear.”

“Sir.” Garrus frowned in anger.

“I want a name, Vakarian. Give me your source, and I’ll look into it. See if they are who they claim and whether or not their information is reliable.”

Garrus remained silent. His contact was a scared, young quarian whom he’d saved from a group of thugs on one of his first patrols. He’d treated her with kindness that she was apparently unused to on the Citadel, and had earned her trust. She didn’t extend the same trust to other C-Sec officers—too many bad run-ins—so he really didn’t want to give this detective her name. He’d loose a good contact and earn a reputation for a wagging tongue.

“Respectfully. No, Sir.” He said.

The older turian crossed his arms. “Excuse me?”

“I said—“

“I know what you said Vakarian.” He spat. “You have some kind of nerve—“

“I respect my contact’s request for anonymity, as should you. This is a good lead, I’ve done most of the legwork myself already, I just needed someone a little higher up the chain of command to get a task force—“

The detective grabbed him by the front of his armor and pulled him in close. “You speak of chain of command, but you don’t respect it? I am—“

“Going to release my son before I get angry.” 

Garrus made himself not flinch. His father was going to just love this…

“Sir.” The detective released him. “I was just explaining to your son the meaning of insubordination.”

“Garrus?” His father turned to him expectantly.

“I have information on a shipment of red sand that’s arriving on Zakera tomorrow.” Garrus pulled up the data on his omni-tool to pass along to his father. “I was tipped off by a contact who wished to remain anonymous, but I looked into it. The information is good.”

His father looked at the data, silencing the other detective with a raised hand when he began to protest. After reading it over, his father nodded. “We’ll get a team set up to be there when the shipment arrives. Well done, Garrus.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Sir, I must object—“

“No, you only think you must. I know your complaint; you believe Garrus hasn’t had adequate time to make reliable contacts. Just because you took two years for people on the wards to start trusting you, doesn’t mean that’s the average.” He leveled a stern look at the other detective once he’d finished sending the data to get a team together. “There is a difference between insubordination and standing up to a bully. Go nurse your pride and report back to work.”

The detective left.

“Father…”

“Don’t. I will not always be able—or willing—to defend you when your stubbornness rears its ugly head. He was correct, you were being insubordinate.”

“So I should have given up my contact, lost that trust—“

“The rules are there for a reason, Garrus. They help us, no matter how much you may believe they don’t. If you had gone through proper channels instead of flagging down the first officer with a detective title you could find, this would not have been an issue.”

“It would also have taken too long.”

He sighed. “Maybe, maybe not, but don’t get into the habit of skirting the rules. It’s a slippery slope, and not one I’ll see you walk down. Follow the rules, Son. Or insubordination will be the least of your worries.”

As his father walked away, Garrus wondered—not for the first time—whether or not he would survive working for C-Sec.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little on the ridiculous side

**J is for Jargon**

 

He didn’t make his way up to Joker’s ‘lair’, as the pilot called it, very often unless he was, as now, headed out of the Normandy. Since he normally only left on mission, he couldn’t recall ever seeing Shepard in the cockpit for more than a status update, yet here she was, relaxed, and leaning against the arm of the copilot chair just… talking with Joker.

He was aware that Shepard made the rounds, talked to her crew, fairly regularly, so he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was. Of course she’d also talk to Joker, and really it wasn’t her presence that was surprising. No. It was _what_ she was saying.

“Lies and slander!” She smiled.

“I’m serious Shep! I swear, that’s how it happened!” Joker was actually smiling and laughing.

“I’m not sure you and I are talking about the same people, Joker.”

“You just can’t admit that I’m right.”

“Come on! My feels can’t handle this!” Shepard laughed. “How can you ship them?”

Garrus was lost. Was Joker a slaver of some kind? Why would Shepard be laughing about something like that?

“Just because you don’t ship the ship that I ship doesn’t mean you can ship shame.”

Was that supposed to make sense?

“I’m not shaming!” She defended. “I just don’t see it.”

“They have undeniable chemistry, Commander. Plus, just so much in common.”

“Really?” Shepard sounded skeptical. “Such as?”

“Their love of shotguns for one.”

Shepard snorted. “If shared affinity for firearms were grounds for shipping, Ash and Garrus would get along a lot better than they do.”

Now he was really confused.

“Nah.” Joker chuckled. “You don’t want to know who I ship Vakarian with.”

“Can’t be worse than Tali and Wrex.” She giggled.

“Uh huh. Laugh it up.” Joker dismissed. “Look at all the fucks that I don’t give.”

Most idioms translated fine. A little wonky on occasion, but decipherable for the most part. This? Whatever jargon they were using mad no sense without context, but since it had something to do with the crew, he found himself curious nonetheless.

“Commander.” He greeted, done with eavesdropping for now.

She smiled at him. “Hey Garrus. Enjoying shore leave?”

“Haven’t actually left yet.”

“Well, you still have a few hours. Go have fun. That’s an order.”

He saluted. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She gave him a friendly salute in reply, and he stepped through the door. 

Before it finished closing, he heard Joker. “BTW, Commander. I meant you.”

Okay, now he really wanted to know.


	11. K is for Keepsake

**K is for Keepsake**

Garrus was working himself up into a good panic. After the suicide mission that they survived, the rogue VI on Atlas that took control of Shepard briefly, and the near miss with the Alpha relay, Garrus had had quite enough of Shepard nearly dying without him there to stop it for a lifetime.

Now, she was in medical with Admiral Hackett himself, getting debriefed on the events surrounding the destruction of the Alpha relay. Over three hundred thousand batarians dead. Battles and gunfights and incursions into highly fortified structures she could survive; Garrus had no idea whether or not she’d survive the political backlash on this one.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the hull.” Joker chastised him.

The pilot was just as concerned as he was for the future of their commander, and patience had never been Joker’s strong suit. He tried to compensate with humor, but Garrus wasn’t in the mood. He’d been banned from the debrief as he’d been banned from the mission itself, and all the not knowing had put him on edge.

“There was nothing else she could have done.” Garrus growled.

“Yeah. We know that, so does Hackett.”

“Then why is he here?”

“Admiral Hackett wished to debrief Shepard in person as it was by personal request she undertake the mission.” EDI offered.

Garrus growled again.

“If it will alleviate your concerns, I am permitted to inform you that Admiral Hackett is not here to challenge Shepard or her choices. He is, however, warning her of potential political fallout.” EDI continued.

“War?” Joker asked.

“Unlikely. The Alliance will attempt to appease the batarian hegemony by putting Shepard on trial.”

“A damn witch hunt.” Garrus hated politicians. 

“Admiral Hackett agrees.” EDI informed him.

He sighed and stopped pacing. He was working himself up over things that he had no control over, and blaming someone who didn’t deserve it. He propped himself up against the doorframe to the cockpit and waited. EDI told them that Admiral Hackett was leaving medical, so Garrus waited calmly as he was able for the elevator to open before he made his way to it, intent to catch Shepard on her way to her room.

Hackett gave him a nod as he passed, which Garrus returned, and then he was hitting the button for the 3rd floor.

When the doors opened, Shepard was standing there looking at a package in her hands.

“Shepard…”

She looked up to him and he saw the worry in her face. He gently pulled her into the elevator and hit the button for her room. They were both silent on the trip up, but Garrus watched as Shepard held the package in her hands almost reverently.

When the doors opened, Shepard didn’t move. Garrus placed a hand on her shoulder, gently urging her to move. She stepped out of the elevator and into her room, eyes still fixed on the package.

When the door closed behind them, Garrus finally broken the silence. “What is it?”

“My Alliance uniform. Hackett brought it for…”

“The trial.”

“Yeah.” She laughed humorlessly. “First time I get to wear it since… and it may be my last.”

“It won’t be.” Garrus assured her. “The Alliance has to see what you did was the only solution.”

“Maybe.”

“Doubts Commander?” Garrus teased.

She sighed and set the uniform down on her desk next to the dog tags that Liara had given back to her.

“There’s a good chance I won’t be a Commander after this, Garrus.” She admitted. “If they don’t court martial me, they’ll strip me of my commission, and keep me on lock down until the political waters calm down.”

“That could take years.” He objected.

She nodded.

“When’s the trial?” He forced his voice to remain steady.

“We’re making a stop at the Citadel to let all non-essential personnel disembark and find other passage to their respective destinations, and then Joker, Dr. Chakwas, and I will take the Normandy to Earth.”

“Non-essential personnel.”

“You, the crew, don’t need to be subjected to what’s about to happen, and the Alliance… It’s better if—“

“If we abandon you?” Garrus demanded.

She turned to look at him, “I don’t want any of the heat to come down on any of you, but… it’s more than that, Garrus. The Reapers are coming. They’ll be here in less than a year, and there is no guarantee that I’ll be released when that happens. I need you all to do what you can to protect and prepare your people. I can’t do anything anymore, but you can.”

“I want to be there for the trial. I’m not part of the Alliance, they can’t do anything to me—“

“They can charge you with aiding Cerberus, or make you take the stand in the trial, bury you in bureaucratic bullshit until you’re in paperwork up to your fringe! Any delay… No. You need to get to Palaven.”

“Shepard!” Garrus put his hands on her shoulders. “I need _you._ ”

She reached up and ran her hand gently down the scars on his face. “I need you too. That’s why you can’t come with me. If I know you’re out there, _fighting_ , then I can endure whatever the Alliance brass throws at me.”

He growled, unhappy with the situation. When she brought her head up to meet his, he sighed. This was out of their hands now, and she was right. He needed to get Palaven on board with Reaper prep.

“I don’t like this.” He murmured.

“Neither do I.” She smiled. “I want you to have something.” She pulled away long enough to reach for the tags sitting on her desk. She pulled them off the display and pooled the metal shards into his hand. “I don’t think I’ll need these, but… they’re part of who I am. I would hate to have to hand them over to the Alliance. Keep them safe?”

He closed his hand around the tags and nodded.


End file.
